


i'd shoot a demon for you son

by Teahound



Series: and sometimes home simply means being together (sleepy boys drabbles) [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Mostly fluff for once, Philza will shoot a monster to protect his kids and then there will be hugs, TW: Blood, Tw: creepy monsters, dadza hunts demons and needs a reliable babysitter, tw: guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teahound/pseuds/Teahound
Summary: Philza is a long-suffering father and a demon hunter. The two don't always mesh well.The concept comes from @lumberjack-halt on Tumblr!
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: and sometimes home simply means being together (sleepy boys drabbles) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021882
Comments: 21
Kudos: 446





	i'd shoot a demon for you son

Philza knows that he doesn’t look particularly professional. Techno’s getting graham cracker crumbs everywhere, Wilbur looks like he’s on the verge of either a tantrum or a child-sized stroke, and Tommy-- Tommy is just loud. He’s not crying or anything, just babbling off a string of nonsense words at an ungodly volume. Philza doesn’t understand how he does it. His lungs should really be too small for that much noise. 

But he does his best to at least look like he knows what he’s doing. It’s not working though, and he knows it, judging by the look the real estate agent is giving him. “Are you sure you’re ready to do this tonight, Mr…?” 

“Philza is fine,” he says, switching Techno to the other hip. Tommy hums noisily in his ear from his place tied to Phil’s back between his enormous grey and white wings. “Yes, I’ll be quite alright. Though I’d appreciate it if perhaps you could...watch the boys?” 

The retail agent gives him a look. Oh well, it was worth trying. Wilbur tugs on his father’s jacket and Philza leans down so he can whisper in his ear. 

“I don’t like her,” Wilbur announces to him, not whispering, unfortunately. The lady-- dammit, what was her name?-- gives him another look, this one more scathing than the last. Phil winces internally. I fucking hate kids, he thinks, as he does at least twice a day. Not that it’s true, but still. Being a single father of three and keeping up his career is really more than should be expected of any man. Especially in his line of work. 

“You couldn’t have gotten a babysitter?” the woman asks, and Philza sighs, pulling out another cracker for Techno and setting him down on the floor where he happily begins distributing more crumbs on the 100-year-old Persian rug. 

Phil passes another cracker over his shoulder to Tommy, which should keep the kid quiet for at least thirty seconds. “Techno scared off the last one, and it’s like they’ve all got a grapevine or something. I’ve been blacklisted by every teenager within thirty miles.” The ones willing to come were asking for ridiculous sums of money for an evening watching children. Phil supposed he understood that hybrids weren’t very common, and his four-year-old son could be a little….bloodthirsty. But still. “They’re very self-sufficient.” 

“That one is a baby,” she-- what was her name?-- says pointing at Tommy, who is trying to shove his graham cracker down the back of Philza’s jacket. 

“Tommy stays with me. He’s my partner.” Phil wished she’d laugh at the joke, he could feel the woman judging him. 

She just gives him a look though. “As long as the job gets done, I suppose.” 

“Ghosts will be out of the house by morning. Guaranteed.” And a nice check would be in his bank account, enough for a proper Christmas this year. Tommy’s first Christmas in the house too and the first one Techno would remember, most likely. He should really be putting thought into presents. Would it be irresponsible to give Techno a weapon? 

Real Estate Lady snaps him out of his reverie. “You have my number. Call me if there are any… complications? And try not to damage the house, practically everything here is antique.” She shoots Techno, who is crumbling his cracker in his hands for the fun or it, a dirty look. The kid looks up as if can sense it and snarls at her, revealing two tiny nubby tusks. She looks a little pale and Philza tries to hide a grin. He’s a very proud Dad. 

“Absolutely,” Phil promises. “A minor haunting like this is very routine.” 

One final look and the Real Estate Lady is gone. Thank goodness. 

“Okay, mates,” Phil says. “You know the drill. Wilbur, you’re in charge of Techno. Which walkie-talkie do you want?” 

“Yellow,” he always wants yellow, but he always wants to be asked too. 

Some would say that leaving a seven-year-old and a four-year-old alone in a probably-haunted-house was a bad idea. It kind of was, but Philza couldn’t concentrate while trying to wrangle the two of them, and he wasn’t gonna leave them alone in the car. Besides, Techno is usually content by himself, and Wilbur is nothing if not independent. He drops the bag, containing an assorted mix of snacks, coloring books, crayons (in a box labeled do not let Techno eat), various matchbox cars, and an ancient iPod shuffle with a pair of headphones from Philza’s college days (Wilbur’s prized possession). 

“Keep an eye on Wilbur,” Phil says, giving Techno’s pink fluff of hair an affectionate ruffle. His son offers a grunt of agreement. The kid isn’t much for talking, and honestly, with Wilbur’s million-miles-an-hour chatter, and Tommy’s sheer volume Philza occasionally longs for the peaceful days when it was just him and his first son. Not that he’d trade his boys for anything, but still, some quiet would be much appreciated. 

He offers Tommy another cracker, trying to distract him from pulling at his poor feathers. He’s not entirely sure where the last cracker disappeared to, but that’s a mystery for later. He grabs the green walkie-talkie, and double-checks the batteries, just in case. “I’m going to the top floor first, apparently there were paranormal sightings in the attic. Wilbur, what are the rules?”

Phil may be a father who brings his kids on his hunts for supernatural creatures causing chaos in the mortal realm, but he likes to believe he does it responsibly. They have rules for a reason, and he watches with satisfaction as Wilbur counts them off on his fingers. “No stealing, no breaking, no touching things you don’t understand, don’t negotiate with demons or ghosts, be polite to anything you don’t understand, call you if I see something weird.” 

“And?”

“And after I call you, go to the car.” That last bit was Wilbur’s least favorite rule. He always wanted to be part of the action, something brought about by his ridiculous lack of fear and insatiable curiosity. Someday, when he was older Phil thought he’d make a rather good partner if he could learn not to stick his nose where it might get bitten. 

Philza double-checks, making sure Tommy’s securely tied to his back, his flashlight has batteries, his phone is charged, and the various accouterments of his profession are in order. “I’ll be in touch,” he says and begins to slowly climb the creepy ornate staircase up to the top floors. 

Tommy babbles loudly behind him, and he tries to shush the noisy child. “Come on, mate, it’s well past your bedtime. Don’t you want to sleep?” Jokes on him, Tommy never wants to sleep. It’s like the kid drinks coffee instead of apple juice. They reach the first landing, and Philza gives the lightswitch an experimental flip. Nothing. The real estate agent told them that there were problems with the wiring, but Phil has enough experience to guess the real issue is something a little more... paranormal. 

He reaches the second floor and reaches for the EMF reader. From the sound of the various strange noises and frightening sightings by previous occupants the agent explained in her email, this is probably some leftover resident of the house with an unresolved issue. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to lay the shade to rest. If he’s unlucky, he’ll have to take more...forceful measures. If he’s very unlucky, something far more sinister. 

Phil is usually unlucky. He’s also, illogically, an optimist. 

The walkie talkie attached to his belt crackles, and Wilbur’s thin voice comes wailing through. “Dad, Techno’s chewing on my headphones, and he’s hoarding all the cars.” 

“Fucking kids,” Philza mutters good-naturedly, before radioing back, “Wil, walkie-talkies are for emergencies only. Techno, leave your brother’s headphones alone, that’s just gross.”

Wilbur mumbles an apology, and he hears some noises of complaint from Techno, and he and baby are left in the quiet again. 

Tommy’s gone silent. Phil would be thankful, but instead, he’s nervous. He wasn’t exactly joking about the baby being his partner. He’s learned the hard way that his youngest has something of a sixth sense-- Tommy doesn’t shut up unless there’s trouble or he’s sleeping. The EMF reader isn’t picking anything up, and the light of his flashlight burns steady, picking up old furniture covered by sheets and a dusty grandfather clock. Nothing out of the ordinary, but Phil feels cold and unsettled. He hesitates and begins moving up the second flight of stairs.

Something is wrong, and Phil can’t put his finger on it. 

Tap tap tap. 

The noise sounds like it’s coming from behind him. Phil spins around, his flashlight beam skittering wildly across the ground, but no, nothing is there. 

He starts up the steps again, more slowly this time. They’re almost to the attic, but something is wrong. “What do you think, mate?” he whispers to Tommy, who just sighs contentedly. At least someone feels safe. 

There’s a sudden burst of static and he reaches for the walkie-talkie, partly relieved for the distraction. He’s an old hat at this game, but his heart rate is uncomfortably fast right now. 

“Dad?” Wilbur’s voice comes through, and the sound of it makes Phil’s chest freeze over. 

Wilbur is scared. 

Wilbur is not easy to scare. 

Something is very very not okay.

“I’m right here,” he says, and he waits for the response. It’s probably not serious, he tells himself firmly. You’re jumpy. Techno probably broke something and he’s scared to tell me. 

That’s not what Wilbur says, though. “Dad, there’s something in the room.”

Phil has already turned around, making his way cautiously down the stairs. “What kind of thing?” 

The silence is too long. Phil moves faster. Four seconds, five, and finally Wilbur’s voice whispers, “It’s got a lot of teeth.” 

Caution is abandoned in an instant, and Phil bolts down the stairs, his feet pounding on the creaking old wood. “Wil!” he shouts as he barrels into the old living room, and stops suddenly. He sees it all in one instant: Wilbur is standing very still in the center of the room, Techno’s hands in fists, clutching his brother’s coat. The crayons and cars are scattered around the room, goldfish crumbs creating yellow constellations on the carpet. The boys are watching him, eyes fixed in expressions of terror. 

There is something behind them.

In the darkness of the room it’s hard to see much. Eyes like glowing brands. Claws as long as Philza’s forearm. 

Lots of teeth. 

Fuck. 

It’s so close to the boys, and Phil is afraid of what the thing will do if he takes a step forward. 

“Dad,” Wil says. Techno is trying to look fierce, but it’s not working. They’re both so brave, Phil thinks, but it’s not a good time to be proud. 

“Get away from them,” he says. “This is a warning.” 

The creature makes a twisted, gurgling sound. Laughter. “Funny,” it says, in a voice tinged with darkness. It sounds wrong like it’s not supposed to be able to speak. “Tasty.” One of those enormous claws snakes forward and brushes against Wilbur’s face. The boy flinches, his eyes fixed pleadingly on Phil.

One wrong move and that creature could tear his son to shreds before Phil could scream his name. 

“Stop,” Techno snaps, baring his teeth at the figure. “Leave’m alone.” 

The creature laughs again, the claws scraping against skin, and Phil sees a single spot of red bloom against Wilbur’s cheek. 

His hands move before his mind, reading for the pocket pistol he keeps close. 

He fires two shots into the creature's head. 

Tommy starts to scream, and Techno, startled into movement, takes advantage of the creature’s distraction to pull his brother away. Phil advances, emptying the rest of the bullets into the monster. It shrieks and writhes, and then, finally, falls silent, a twisted collection of broken limbs and dripping teeth, staining the ancient rug. 

Phil falls to his knees as his boys collapse into his arms. He clutches them tightly as he can. “Are you hurt?” 

Wil pulls away, a small red line against his cheek. Phil digs through his bag and applies a bandaid. Techno curls up in his lap, trembling a bit, and he rumbles the boy’s hair. “You were both very brave,” he says, and they look proud. 

“Next time can we go with you?” Wilbur says, hopefully. “Since we were very brave?” 

Phil sighs, releasing the adrenaline pounding through his veins. “Next time I’m getting a babysitter. Come on, I’m taking you home, it’s way past your bedtime.” He stands, picking up Techno and bouncing him on his hip. He looks for Wilbur, who is creeping towards the carcass, eyes alight with curiosity. Fear doesn’t last very long with that kid.

“I’ll make hot chocolate,” he offers, and Wilbur scampers back, slipping his hand into Phil’s. 

They walk back to the car. Eventually, Phil will have to call the real estate agent, return to clean up his mess and make sure that he didn’t miss anything and apologize for ruining that carpet. But tonight he’s going to make hot chocolate and popcorn and put on a movie, and let Wilbur and Techno stay up until they fall asleep in a pile on the couch. 

After all, he may be a professional, but he’s a father first.


End file.
